


Skeleton Boy

by orphan_account



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: F/M, Zombie AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Once he was out of their line of sight, a more or less numb look formed back on his face and he reached to turn his speakers up once again. As the sounds of Kurt Cobain filled the silence again, a long sigh left him. He was filled with this odd sense of peace as he sped out onto the open road. Tate Langdon was out on the open road, the end of life as they knew it unfolding around him. He had no destination in mind or a plan but that didn’t matter, so he continued to just drive.(TLDR: Zombie Apocalypse au following Tate's perspective)





	1. Highways

The end of the world really did happen in the blink of an eye.

One day, he was moping and hating everyone around him, the next day he was wrestling with an undead mass. Its teeth snapping to get a taste of his flesh, drool and other types of ooze dripping from its orifice. One hand fumbled to shove it back and away from him, the other reaching behind him to grab the lone blade his mother left on the table from dinner. Gripping the blade in his hand, he thrust it back towards the beat. It was shortly after plunging the blade into the creature’s decaying head, it slumped back and he threw it off.

From there, the world went to shit. Well, it got shittier. The dead picked off the bulk of the population, leaving most of the weirdos and freaks around to pick up the pieces of the world. Most sane people tried to make groups to survive in but most freaks turned to chaos and looting. The kinds of people who went around picking corpses clean for supplies and who’d rob the living at gunpoint to continue surviving. Survival became all that most people knew because if it wasn’t the dead that tore you limb by limb, it would be the living that would make you watch as they killed and looted your entire family before ending your misery.

His first few months, while the world melted into chaos, he spent them alone. He just got in their family car, started it, and begun to drive. With nothing more than a handful of objects he threw into the backseat, he peeled out of the driveway and just started to drive. He didn’t have a plan of where he was going or when he was going to stop. Instead he just shoved a CD into the player and hummed along as he cruised through the chaos.

He wasn’t pulled over until a few hours in, coming across a checkpoint where police attempted to stop and wrangle people into the death camps they called quarantine zones. Cleared people were allowed to pass, anyone deemed a danger was collected.

The blonde fumbled to turn down the rock song blasting from his speakers and to roll down the window when a uniform wearing man strolled up to the car. He tapped on the window with one knuckle, mouth pressed firm together as he took a long look at the boy. The boy sat up and tried his best to look lost but presentable.

“Son, are you all by yourself there?” His tone dripped in a Texan accent, which felt out of place here.

The teenager nodded, frown gracing his lips. It was a hallow frown though, seeing as he felt better being on his own right now. “My mother was eaten by th-those things.” he lied softly, a crack in his words.

“I see…” He trailed off, noticing the blood which had dried onto his hands. “I’m very sorry for you loss young man, but do you have any form of ID on you? I’m going to need to see that.”

He blinked in response, almost in shock by the bureaucratic question. The end of the damn world and he can’t pass a fucking security check because he left his fucking wallet at home. Looking for a way to get out of this with little to no trouble, he swallowed thickly and brushed his fingers through his messy blonde locks. “I don’t-I don’t have it, I was in such a rush to l-leave, all I got was the keys and my coat,” he waved his hand to emphasize, staring up at the man.

The man stared at him for a few moments in response, probably expecting the boy to break and tell him “the truth”. 

Doubling down on ignorance, the boy made a small sniffle noise and looked down at his lap, “Pl-please help me, sir,” his words burned his throat to say but he forced himself to look up at the officer as another cry bubbled up, “She didn’t-didn’t bite me, I swear, I just need to get through- My grandma-she can barely walk, and I have to help her.”

He stared for another second before letting out a little sigh, “You know what, alright... Fine,” He gave in. The boy wasn’t sure why but maybe the man had a sore spot for dying grandmothers or something. He leaned in closer to the window, meeting eyes with him, “You go help your old lady out and get down to a safe point.”

“O-oh thank you sir!” he cried back, tone dripping in fake gratefulness as the officer tapped the side of the car to say it was clear.

Once he was out of their line of sight, a more or less numb look formed back on his face and he reached to turn his speakers up once again. As the sounds of Kurt Cobain filled the silence again, a long sigh left him. He was filled with this odd sense of peace as he sped out onto the open road. Tate Langdon was out on the open road, the end of life as they knew it unfolding around him. He had no destination in mind or a plan but that didn’t matter, so he continued to just drive.


	2. Ringing Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tate goes out on the road with a new couple, sees a little more of what the world if becoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapters all have emp names because i feel like it.

Tate ended up driving for hours, car breaking down on the side of the more or less empty dark highway. He didn’t know where else to go from here, his blank-eyed gaze staring at the road. It had been a couple who stopped and hesitantly got out of their car to check on the brown-eyed boy. Looking for shelter, he continued with the grandmother story and lied that he just needed a ride down the road. They were either stupid or too trusting, or both, and insisted on taking him to the same shelter they were going to. The free ride was welcomed, so he grabbed his junk and climbed in.

Since he didn’t need to drive, he took the time to curl up and sleep. He needed it in fact. The more sleep he could manage to get, the better. With the sounds of the couple muttering to each other, Tate curled up clutching his bag as he slept.

He didn’t wake up they were at a gas station, attempting to fuel up for the rest of the drive. At the time, he never considered how amazing it was that the station was still open and functioning. Tate never had the time to question it fully either, much too groggy and lost at the moment.

He sat up slowly, rubbing under his eyes as he started to wake up a bit more. Looking around, he spotted the man pumping gas and the woman still up in the front seat. She seemed to notice him now, turning to look at him.

“Hey kid…” she spoke up softly, “sleep well?”

Tate nodded back at her, letting out a little yawn.

“You slept for a few hours there, I was shocked my husband and I didn’t wake you..” Now that he was awake, he could take a moment to further inspect the woman’s face. She had a pale complexion with soft almost bleach blonde hair and warm makeup painted on.

“ ‘m a heavy sleeper,” he said softly in return, pausing as he let out a cough.

A small frown spread across her face and she turned more to gaze back at him, “Are you feeling okay?” Without a second thought, she reached out to press the back of her hand to his forehead, “don’t feel warm… Must just be shaken up huh?”

He nodded again, “yeah.. Do I look sick?”

She shrugged, “Not particularly. You just look pale and were sleeping for a while back there. Guess I was just paranoid you’d picked up a bug.” She glanced back at the gas station as her husband stepped over to go pay, “You weren’t really on the road to go to your grandmother, were you?”

Tate stared down at the ground like a child who’d been caught doing something bad and nodded quietly, “No, I wasn’t.”

“I thought so,” The woman admitted, “but it’s okay, you were probably just scared..” She offered him a small smile before asking a new question, “Where're your parents, my dear?”

It was almost a little startling to be called those sweet names and for them to feel sincere. He felt inclined to be honest with her instead of lying further, “My uh… My dad left when I was just a kid, and I don’t know where my mom is, she wasn’t home when it happened and her shitty boyfriend started trying to eat me this morning.” He stared down at the ground again, guilt bubbling up for lying earlier.

He looked up when she rested her hand on his, squeezing it gently. “It’s alright, don’t worry, I’ll look out for you in the meantime. My name is Nora, what’s yours?”

Her presence alone was much more motherly than his birth mother ever had and he felt a natural incline to talk to her more. “Tate,” he replied, looking back up at her.

“Tate… That’s a very handsome nice name,” Nora complimented. Again she smiled and squeezed his hand before withdrawing hers, “well, don’t worry dear. If my husband ever hurries up, we’re going to get down to a safe house a bit aways… I’ll look out for you until you find your mom.”

He wanted to tell that he didn’t want to find his mother but instead, Tate just nodded and met eyes with her again.

When her husband returned, Tate grew quiet and returned his attention towards the window. Occasionally they’d chat and usually it would end in a fight, hidden underneath harsh little whispers but Tate ignored it. He was used to ignoring it.

Instead, he poured his focus into the winding road and watched the broken run down cars as they passed them. Sometimes his gaze would catch another one of those creatures from this morning and he couldn’t help but watch in awe. They were almost like zombies but the creature from this morning was nothing like what he’d seen on television before.

Tate must have dozed off again because it was raining when he opened his eyes again and they were stuck in a winding line of cars. Up ahead, in the distance, he could make out the image of a large convention center like area and a check-in gate much like the one he evaded on his way out to the highway.

“You must be kidding me with this traffic…” The man behind the wheel, who’s name Tate learned was Charles, muttered. His grip on the wheel was so tight his knuckles were turning white, they had been that way almost the entire drive.

“I’m sure the traffic is the least of our problems,” Nora responded softly, resting her elbow onto the armrest.

“I just-you’d think our government would have one thing done efficiently and done right,” he shot back, “ ‘end of the fucking world and I am sitting in a traffic jam right now.”

He was shushed quickly by Nora, receiving a jab to the ribs with her elbow, “Charles! Don’t speak like that, there is a boy in the car.”

Charles groaned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “Nora, he’s a teenager, not eight. I’m sure he’s heard much much worse at schools these days.”

Tate has.

She sighed in response, leaning back into her seat, “I do not know why you cannot pretend to be a smart well put together man instead of an angry oaf for once. He doesn’t need to hear talk like that right now.”

He only huffed in response, leaving an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Tate’s stomach. Maybe Tate just broke up relationships, like a bad omen or something. 

Nora turned to offer Tate a weak smile, “Don’t worry hun… We’re going to get in there and see if we can’t find your mom or someone who can help you, I promise.” She assured.

Tate still felt uncomfortable. It’s not that he didn’t believe Nora, he knew she meant well. He just knew that no one would be there for him. His father was probably dead and died a long time ago and his mother wouldn’t care enough to come down here to find him. He wasn’t an incredibly social kid in school either, instead he really kept to himself, so he knew that the other kids there wouldn’t recognize him or care even if they did. He’s sure they’d probably be disappointed he wasn’t someone else, so he didn’t keep his hopes up.

He was pulled from his discomfort however at the sounds of screaming. Everyone’s attention was brought to the sight of a small herd of those things lurching towards them from the woods and towards the highway. They moved in broken looking limps and twitches, loud aching screeches coming from the monster like people. Tate knew they were screams and cries of hunger. 

Chaos broke out almost immediately after. People tried backing up in their cars, no matter how much the officials in charge screamed for everyone to stay calm and to stay in their vehicles. When it proved too hard to escape in their cars, people started to desperately climb out and bolt away from the creatures. They slammed into windshields and other cars as they screamed for everyone to run. It was an all-out frantic panic and Tate was left feeling frozen in the back seat.

Looking between Nora and Charles, who were just as shocked and frozen as he was, Tate started to grab his bag. He swung it over his shoulder and started to scoot towards the door. Just as he was starting to jiggle the door handle open, he met eyes with Nora.

“Tate no-!” She tried to reason, her other hand reaching to hit the door lock but Tate was already swinging the door open.

His body trembled as he hoisted himself out and started to stumble away from the car. Behind him, he could hear the desperate pleas of Nora to get back in the car but Tate refused to listen. His ears felt like they were ringing as he stared at the now clearing path into the woods. A shaky breath leaving him, he pushed forwards and started to run towards the trees.

He didn’t stop running until he could no longer hear anything but his own breathing. Not until he could no longer hear the screams, the crying, and the calls for him to come back. Instead, Tate was just left standing in the middle of a Californian forest with no idea where he was or where he was going. Putting one foot forward at a time, Tate started to walk into the nothing, with nothing more than his own whistling to fill the silence.


	3. Second Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tate starts to understand who he is all along as well as upgrading his outfit.

The first few months were weird. Watching the world end around him was, in short, weird. Tate spent most of his time wandering around from place to place on his own, acquiring rations during the day and sleeping for a few hours a time at night. If he was pale before, he looked like a ghost now but with a bonus set of tired eye bags. Honestly, it was hard to even get sleep over all the noise. For being dead, those things were fucking loud.

Killing them was hard at first. After the first few though, you start to grow numb to the feeling. Tate found this old hunting knife on a corpse a few weeks ago that really got the job done. When you stop hesitating, it really starts to become a mechanical process. The knife goes in the skull, twist until the groans stop, then withdraw and wipe off. The brains get stuck on the groves sometimes.. If he thought about it enough, Tate might have been scared by how good he was at killing them.

Tonight, he found himself settling down in some boarded-up motel. Just another shitty little shack of a house with barely any supplies but that didn’t matter. It had a bed that he could curl up and sleep on for the night. That was all he needed right about now.

He ended up collapsing onto the bed, opening his bag to withdraw a single bottle of whiskey he picked up a few weeks ago. Tate was never much of a drinker, as well as hated most parties, but sipping on the alcohol usually helped him get tired enough to doze off for even a little bit. It was nice.

He watched the window blankly as he drank, heavy eyelids overtaking him after a bit.

Tate’s big brown eyes fluttered open to find a tall man standing over him. His gaze scanned over the man’s face to first note the mask covering up the nose up on his face. It looked like the top half to a skeleton mask, one of those masks that were shaped to look like the bones instead of just laying flat. He momentarily wondered if the man looted that or actually paid for it and was re-purposing it for a new end of the world look. He found a lot of people did this, starting a new trend of apocalyptic outfits unintentionally.

“Nice jacket,” The man’s words came out in a purr like he was sizing up a meal before sinking his teeth into it. Before Tate could bother with a response, both his ring covered hands held up a double-barreled shotgun. “give me it.”

He blinked, baffled, before the woman next to the man squeaked out, “Give it! Give it!”

Was Tate really getting robbed right now? And for his coat?

“Seriously?” he asked, sitting up on both of his elbows to get a good look at both of his robbers. The guy looked right out of a Hot Topic ad, sporting all a basic all-black outfit with a pair of dark leather boots and at least two dozen rings and necklaces. At most, Tate was at least a little jealous of the guy’s shoes seeing as they weren’t falling apart. The girl, on the other hand, was rather plain, a blonde sporting a doll-like mask with similar loud dark clothing.

The man blinked before a glare started to form on his face. “Yeah man!” The guy agreed hissed back, waving around the pistol at Tate again, “give me the fucking coat before I blow you god damn brains out!”

A sigh escaped him again as he started to sit up. For a moment, he considered withdrawing the revolver from his pocket and to see if he could withstand a shoot out but didn’t bother trying. Dying over a trench coat seemed insane, and a lame way to die, so he started to comply and started to strip off the jacket.

Tate was stopped however when the man held up a hand and looked to the side. “D-did you fuckin’ hear that?” he muttered in a low tone, his glare watching the boarded-up window.

“It was probably just the wind… Baby come on,” the girl snarked back in a hurried hushed whisper, her gaze resting on Tate.

“Shut up bitch, I’m trying to listen,” he hissed back at her, gaze falling from Tate and towards the window.

He paused, watching the two as his hand started to snake down towards his pocket. It was stupid and reckless but the blonde wasn’t thinking. Feeling his hand reach the cold steel in his pocket, he knew what he had to do. The mental math in his head was probably off, but he was sure there were at least four shots in the chamber and if he just kept shooting, he’d have a hell of a better chance of surviving this.

“See, It’s nothing,” she finally spoke up, catching his attention once again.

“Fine, I’m sure you’re right,” the man muttered and turned to focus back on Tate again. His thoughts were interrupted however when the blonde boy withdrew the pistol and his shaking hand-pulled on the trigger three times.

Two shots ran out, each bullet hitting the man hard in the chest. The woman beside him screamed immediately, shouting out his name in a pained cry. While she was sobbing and trembling, Tate was just staring in awe.

He didn’t go down like the dead do, instead stumbling backward and inky red bubbled up from his chest. Instead of the familiar groans and whines of the dead, Tate was met with more harmonious gargles and whimpers of the confused living. His grip on the gun loosened and it came clattering to the ground along with him. The woman kneeled down by his side, loud cries, and pleas for him to stay with her leaving her lips.

Tate slowly sat up, a sick happy feeling welling up in the pit of his stomach. It was wrong but he found joy in watching the man choke on his own blood. He wanted to watch it again and again, burning it into his mind. Subconsciously gripping onto the revolver, he started to stand onto both feet once again. His legs felt like jelly somehow.

By now, the woman had ripped her mask off to reveal a sad makeup smeared mess sobbing over the dead man. “No, no, no, please,” she cried out softly, blood-stained hands going to rest on his chest. Then her attention flickered to Tate, wide-eyed. “We’re sor-”

Not another lie left her lips before he pulled the trigger again, watching with full attention as the shot rang through her. She hit the ground, dead instantly. Tate found this to be much less satisfying than watching the man bleed out like before, but little shivers of pleasure trailed down his spine when she hit the ground.

His hands trembled as he slid the weapon back into his pocket, taking a moment to step back and truly look at the scene. Two people lay side by side in heaps, two pools of blood mixing into one. It was almost poetic, he noted. They looked like star crossed lovers who would have rather died than live a life without one another, instead of the junkie robbers they most likely were.

Tate stared blankly at the scene for a moment more before kneeling down to mindlessly strip the man of his shoes. He then sat down just out of the range of the blood pool and started to toss off his old worn sneakers. He felt a sense of pride as he slid on each nice leather boot, feet almost filling into them perfectly. Standing back up, he felt like a new person.

Soon after, little laugh bubbled up and Tate started to gather his things. He supposed it was time to leave and find somewhere new. He was much too awake and buzzing with confusing feelings to consider sleeping again. Scooping his stuff into his bag, he started to make his way towards the back door.

As he was about to leave, the blonde stopped and took one last look before stepping back towards the bodies. “Nice mask,” Tate spoke up to the corpse in a light almost teasing tone of voice, “give me it.” He bent over and stripped the man of the mask, another laugh bubbling up. He put it on like a second skin, fingers brushing over the smooth hard plastic with a newfound interest.

From then on, Tate Langdon realized he was one of those freaks and begun to embrace it.


	4. His 18th Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tate decides today is his 18th birthday and gets a better reward than alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning ahead for some somewhat detailed zombie kills/gore descriptions and an implied sex scene.

His days soon started to grow blurry and mix together the longer they went on. For a while, Tate tried to keep track of them. He found an old calendar and tried to scratch off day after day in hopes of remembering, but it grew way too hard to keep track. As days began to blur together, he started to grow confused and scrapped the idea altogether. Before he knew it, Tate was just using the seasons to keep track of time even passing. At least time was passing. That relaxed a few of his many worries.

The people around him only seemed to decay. The undead obviously were hobbling around, skin falling from their exposed ribs and teeth rotting from their mouth, but the living were decaying into bandits and scavengers. Good people snapped and grew into wild ugly monsters. Tate, more often than not, was grouping himself in with those monsters. 

He was first off, a scavenger like the rest. He oftentimes found himself looting fresh corpses and breaking into supply bins to steal enough to get himself by. His hands were practically made for thieving, it came naturally. However, when he was caught, he'd feign the scared lost boy act again. Alternatively, when they didn't believe him, a few rounds to the face never hurt. Sometimes it was killing which reminded him he was still alive.

Tate continued to wear the skull mask as a sick personal trophy from his first kill. Over the months, his outfit expanded to a few more useful items from particularly special slayings or lootings. A week or so ago, he picked up a nice black mouth guard face mask. It covered his exposed face nicely, was breathable, and kept him warm when the winter days grew long and cold. The blonde knew he probably looked straight of a b list emo apocalypse film or something but didn't bother to care. He didn't care about a lot of stuff now.

Today was a regular day for him, wandering through the snow-dusted forest beside the highway. He knew he wasn't still in California with how much he'd been traveling but he'd yet to pinpoint a location. As far as he knew, he was going through Utah a few days ago. Where Tate was going was beyond him, he was more so drifting. Maybe he could locate a map or road sign still up to shed some light on that. Either way, he avoided the highway because he knew raiders loved to jump out at spots and rob careless travelers. He was smart enough, or maybe more desperate enough, to run with a group of raiders for a while. He learned a lot of tricks back there, many which have kept him alive.

He'd managed to wander all the way towards a small town. Glancing at a road sign, he managed to note he was somewhere in Colorado. Makes sense, the snow does get out here after all. Again it made him question how long he's been traveling. Has it been a year? Has his birthday passed? Should he be counting himself as eighteen now?

His birthdays were never that grand growing up, but they were enough for Tate. Before he grew to despise her and she took to drinking more, his mom used to bake him a cake. It'd be a made from scratch chocolate cake with chocolate icing, so perfect you'd expect to see it in a storefront. When he was little, it was his job to sit on the counter and lick the beater while she cooked. She used to smile so warmly at the boy, picking him up and holding him close once she was done. Sometimes he can still feel her nailed fingers, combing through his messy blonde locks as she murmured about how big he was getting. While he didn't think he missed his mother, he did miss those cakes. He missed the taste of real food quite a bit.

He decided today would be his birthday, even if it wasn't. He wanted to be eighteen now. He wanted to be an adult now. If he was able to put down a person without batting an eyelash then he should be considered an adult.

Tate drifted from his thoughts as the night started to set in and he shuffled off towards a shitty motel for a place to stay for the night. It seemed relatively quiet and he figured there might be something he could loot for a shitty birthday celebration. It was stupid to dwell on it so much but Tate didn't know what else to give a shit about right now.

The motel sported a large wooden and metal object fence which he assumed a surviving group once started. The fence was worse for wear, spots were torn open and different objects having slid out of their place to show an opening. Tate slipped in through a spot a metal pannel used to be nailed to.

He was met with a parking lot but he wasn’t alone. He could make out at least three biters, each hobbling around the lot. Tate stepped forwards slowly, gripping onto the hunting knife. He picked out the first of the group, the one rubbing its body up against the bed of a truck. Ignoring the folic weird nature of the creatures, he swiftly wrapped an arm around its shoulders and then dug the blade into its skull. Tate twisted it, letting out small hushing sounds as the creature started to go limp onto him. He dropped him and stepped towards the next one.

This biter was shuffling towards a window, large and bloated. Tate could tell it was fresh, at least only a week or so old. The first wave of dead ones are always more grey and missing more layers of flesh. As he stepped forward, it turned and made a confused groan. Its jaw moved like it was grinding together, teeth gnawing.

“Come on big guy, closer,” Tate egged him on, swinging the blade at the creature. It glided into the head through the temple, leaving his hands shaking as he ripped it back. 

His last problem was out of the corner of his eye. It laid struggling and squirming underneath another car lingering in the parking lot. The wheel kept him pinned right in the midsection on his back. Since Tate walked in, it noticed him and begun to squirm and cry out from the spot.

He sighed, stepping over slowly. He looked around, spotting a brick on the ground nearby. “That’ll do,” he muttered, picking it up. Tate’s gaze flickered to the biter one last time before he kneeled down to smash the brick into the creature’s skull. It only took him four smashes before it stopped moving, he counted.

Now that he got those out of the way, he surveyed the area and decided on picking a room upstairs. He always liked the view.

He walked upstairs to the upper set of rooms finding number eight. It jiggled open well enough, opening to reveal pretty much… nothing. Besides a few blood stains on the wall and the junk people left behind, it was a pretty regular looking room. He was almost surprised how even in the apocalypse, the motel managed to look shitty in comparison. He slammed the door behind him.

Tate was sure the bed was old and stained with ejaculation stains but he strode towards it. The blonde tossed his sack onto the bed and flopped backward onto it. His gaze rested upon the ceiling, focusing particularly on a large stain on the ceiling. "how do you get it up there?" He asked himself.

A sigh escaped him as he sat up and opened his bag, whisking out an amber-colored bottle. Before starting to drink, he tore off his mask and the guard, throwing them into the bag. He slid his jacket off into the bed, wanting the room to breathe. He felt as if he was exposing himself almost.

Then, he cracked open the bottle and took a long chug. Tate didn't take the time to read the bottle or taste it, all he wanted was to get birthday drunk. It would pass the never-ending time, and maybe if he was lucky someone would come to blow his brains out while he was passed out.

Taking long swigs from the bottle, he fished another can from his bag. It was just some canned peaches and fruit mix but it was the closest thing he had to enjoyable to eat. He set the bottle aside and jabbed at the can a few times before it was open. He ended up jabbing the knife into each piece of fruit, like a spear, to actually eat it. When he was done, he clung the can into the corner of the room. The juices leaked out everywhere in the corner, a fine puddle forming.

"Happy birthday," he slurred out, returning to his alcohol. It burned his throat and for a moment he wondered how his mother could stand the stuff. He always thought it was the end result that helped though. He uncapped it and forced himself to take another long drink. 

He leaned his head back, a whistle escaping him. Tate swirled the alcohol absentmindedly, focus resting on the stain again. His body seemed to relax steadily as he went through the bottle. Just as he was about to start drifting off, he looked up to see the door swing open. She swung around, even more, shocked to see him lying on the bed.

"Who-who are you?" She asked in a soft tone.

Tate sat up on his elbows, buzzed and confused. "Tate.. who are you?" He rebuffed.

"Violet," she fidgeted in place. 

He looked between her and the bottle for a moment before holding it out to her, "do you.. wanna sip?"

She watched him for a second before a long sigh escaped her and she nodded, "yes, I really do," she came over and sat down on the edge of the bed.

The blonde handed her the bottle, watching as she took a swig. Almost immediately she started to cough, pounding her chest as she handed him the bottle back.

A small chuckle escaped him and he took a drink, passing it back to her. "Do you ever drink?"

"No dipshit," Violet replied, coughing again, "it's the end of the world and I'm probably seventeen. I'm not getting hammered every day.."

"Probably?" He asked.

"Yeah," she shrugged, unable to remember when her birthday was now as well. "I don't know the days anymore because it's all a blur.. especially now."

Admittedly, Tate was intrigued by the mysterious girl. She wasn't like other girls he's met. Even in the slim pickings of the apocalypse, he didn't care much for his options nor did they care for him.

"My birthday is today," he announced, "I decided. That's why I got the good stuff."

She let out a little laugh as the bottle was passed to her. "You can just decide that?"

He nodded, "yeah, it's the apocalypse after all. I think you can decide just anything now, who's stopping me?"

Violet seemed to think about his point for a moment before nodding in agreement. "Yeah, okay, that makes sense. Happy birthday then."

He smiled warmly, her words sparked a feeling in his chest that he hasn't felt in years. "thanks," Tate said softly.

"Did anyone get you a gift?" She asked.

Tate shook his head, "nope, you're the only person who came to my party. What a shame." His words were hollow but joking.

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything," she responded simply, staring at him for a few moments. Maybe it was the booze talking or maybe she was just lonely but she blurted out, "you should kiss me."

He didn't need more than an invite, leaning in suddenly to meet lips with her. Until seeing her, he didn't realize how attention starved he truly was. The two of them needed each other and they needed each other's company. Their lips crashed and rubbed together in such a fast feverous attempt, Tate wondered if he would give her a friction burn. He hoped not.

When the two of them pulled back, they were both panting and staring at each other with wide hungry eyes. Not a word of complaint was uttered as she reached out and started to tug up his shirt up and over his head. A moment later, he helped her start to pull her shirt off over her head. Like a set of touch starved animals, they spent almost the entire night skin against skin, never wanting to leave each other’s sides.

After it was all said and done, she was the first to sit up and roll off of him. Stepping over towards her bag, she started to fish a pack of cigarettes out of it. “You want one?” She asked, offering the carton towards him. He was swiftly reminded of his nicotine addiction he started sophomore year, which has been growing harder to satisfy lately.

“Please,” He said, opening his lips for her to place one on his lips. She gave him a light before turning to her own cigarette.

The blonde took a long inhale, sitting up on his elbows. He plucked the cigarette from his lips as he puffed out a cloud of smoke into the room. “God damn, I haven’t had one of these in forever.”

She let out a small chuckle and nodded, “Yeah, cigarettes have become a rare find these days, fucking sucks.”

He nodded and they spent the entire night talking.

All in a few hours, Tate fell in love with the girl. Everything she talked about fascinated him. He could lay there and listen to her for days if they could. He never asked her why she was here or how she picked his room, all he wanted to know about was her life. He only wished that he met her sooner before he became a monster. So, in an effort to keep her around, he told himself to keep the monster in check. For Violet, he would be a regular person again or he tried to be.


End file.
